


Slow Dances And Sweet Kisses

by Imoshen



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Dancing, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Kissing, M/M, immortal husbands in love, lovemaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28453377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imoshen/pseuds/Imoshen
Summary: Venice in December, an anniversary looming close, slow dances and music. Joe and Nicky, in love.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 16
Kudos: 84
Collections: All and More (18+) Kaysanova Gift Bag 2020





	Slow Dances And Sweet Kisses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FereldenTurnip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FereldenTurnip/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [FereldenTurnip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FereldenTurnip/pseuds/FereldenTurnip) in the [All_and_More_Gift_Bag_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/All_and_More_Gift_Bag_2020) collection. 



> I hope you like it, favorite trash panda!
> 
> **Prompt:**
> 
> 1\. fereldenturnip#3260
> 
> 2\. Short prompts:  
> \- Sweet slow dancing  
> 4\. DNWs:  
> \- Let's be real, I'm easy going but for these prompts best leave out: mega angst, whump, death, modernAU, non-con, mpreg, kidfic, age-play, *uber* feminization...

They are nearing another anniversary – a big one, 900 years since that first _I love you_ fell from their lips – and they are in Venice, of all places.

Some might think it’s romantic, but Nicolò is of Genova and has… _opinions_ about La Serenissima that are rooted deep. Joe was surprised when his husband presented him with train tickets and a hotel room, but Nicky had merely smiled and kissed him.

“I know you love to sketch her,” he’d told Joe, arms around his shoulders and the tip of his nose brushing Joe’s. “I will try not to be too jealous of your attentions.”

Joe had laughed, because jealousy is not something that’s part of their relationship and Nicky had been smirking, himself. “Thank you, Nicolò.”

Venice in December has a tendency towards cold and wet, but she is not overrun by tourists. Joe spends his days wandering the old, familiar canals with his sketchbook and charcoals, sometimes with Nicky an amused, patient shadow, sometimes alone. He fills sketchbooks with Venice’s canals, with her _palazzos_ and bridges and churches, with her _Gondolieri_ and her people, and – again and again, because he cannot help himself – with Nicky.

It earns him Nicky’s soft kisses, his glove-warm hands cupping Joe’s face and his long hair brushing Joe's cheeks, the strands getting caught in his beard. Nicky finds a new place for them to eat every evening – sometimes the restaurant has a name Joe recognizes, sometimes it’s a tiny trattoria in a narrow canal where nobody but the locals eat. His Nicolò’s flawless Venetian always earns them smiles, and Joe knows better than to tease him about speaking the dialect so well.

It feels like a dream, an escape from the lethal, bloody dance they’re caught up in for most of their lives. A dream filled with cold fingers and twinkling Christmas lights, warm kisses and good food, with Nicky smiling and relaxed.

They are strolling back towards their hotel room after another delicious dinner, hand in hand, and pass a pair of musicians on their balcony, a woman with a violin and another who is singing. It’s a love song, slow and full of longing, echoing along the empty canal. Joe turns his head to glance at Nicky and sees him smile. The song follows them along the canal, and the memory follows them into their hotel room. They don’t need words.

Joe selects the music and connects his phone to the sound system of the room, and then he turns and sees his husband, standing in the middle of their room with a smile on his lips and his cheeks still flushed from the cold air outside, and he is so in love he cannot put it in words.

He holds out both hands instead, and Nicky takes them, pulls him in close. Cheek to cheek, they sway with the music as the night deepens outside. They’re wrapped too tightly around each other for their dance to truly qualify as a waltz, but neither man cares. Joe has forgotten how many times he has danced with Nicky, but the joy of it, of holding the man he loves in his arms has never dimmed. “I love you,” he whispers into the short hairs that escaped Nicky’s hair tie, feels the shiver his warm breath causes. “Nico, love of my heart, light of my soul…”

“Breath of my lungs,” Nicky whispers, just as low, just as loving. “You are my warmth and my true north, Yusuf. Your arms are my home.”

Joe must kiss him, it’s as imperative as his next breath or maybe even more than that. He can exist without breath, he cannot exist without Nicky’s kiss.

What begins slow and soft, a brushing of lips against lips, turns eager and then hungry within heartbeats. Nicky’s hands fist in Joe’s warm sweater, pull him ever closer as his mouth opens for Joe’s kiss, warm and familiar and sparking heat low in Joe’s belly. His hands slip beneath Nicky’s clothes to find warm skin. Nicky sighs into their kiss, melts into Joe’s arms.

“Take me to bed, hayati.”

Their lovemaking is as slow, as sensual, as their dancing was. It’s all wet kisses and gentle touches, Nicky pinned beneath Joe and wrapped around him, arching up into him with sweet little moans whenever he has the breath for them. It’s Joe rolling onto his side and tugging Nicky against his back, insides of his thighs slick with lube. It’s Nicky’s moan in his ear, the way his arms tighten around Joe as he slips his cock between Joe’s thighs and sets them to rocking, Nicky’s hand warm on Joe’s throat – not applying any pressure, just a warm weight resting there. Holding him. Joe has to reach down and wrap a hand around his own dick, stroke himself in time to Nicky’s slow rocks.

Joe turns his head back far enough he can keep kissing Nicky, because he might just die if they stop – and with the way Nicky kisses him, it’s a mutual need. Nicky is hot and hard between his thighs, the tip of his cock brushing against Joe’s balls every now and then, and every contact makes him whine, makes Joe shiver. It’s almost like the first time they did this, centuries back and worlds away, except music is still guiding their rhythm and the bed is far more comfortable than the sand they’d bedded on all those years ago. Still, Joe almost expects to open his eyes to firelight and stars, and Nicky’s hair finally escaping its tie and brushing his cheek as they kiss adds to the memory.

“Nico,” Joe whispers, and he has no idea which language he is speaking, “Nico, my love, I need you…”

“I have you,” Nicky promises, sounding just as desperate as Joe feels. The arm around his chest tightens, pulls him in. “I have you, my beloved, my Yusuf…”

The hand wrapped around his cock twists a little and rubs against sensitive spots, and Joe moans and arches into Nicky and spills wet and hot over his fingers. He hears the low, aching moan pressed against his throat, feels Nicky shiver and jerk behind him, the wet warmth spreading between his thighs.

They curl together beneath their blankets, uncaring of the mess between them for the moment. Music continues to play softly in the background… and beyond their windows, snow begins to cover Venice in a thin blanket.


End file.
